Smallville The Look
by IolantheAlias
Summary: Clark thinks about how people look at him when he reveals his secret.


The day that he told Pete was the first time that Clark Kent really saw "The Look". It wasn't that he hadn't gotten The Look before; it was just that this time it was from someone that he really cared about.

Clark had never realized it fully before. He'd gotten part of the Look from Sam Phelan, the crooked cop who'd blackmailed him into helping out with Sam's crooked schemes. Clark, not playing ball, had finally goaded the man into shooting at him. In surprise, Clark had realized that he could dodge the bullets. Phelan had stared at him with the Look and said, half angrily and half fearfully, "What _are _you?"

Then there were plenty of other times when Clark had shown off a fraction of his abilities, usually not meaning to, but forced to in order to save his friends or family. He'd go ahead and throw someone against a wall, or lift an impossibly heavy object, or speed around someone so it looked as if he were vanishing and reappearing. His opponent, at first so confident, would feel the first stirrings of doubt. Then uncertainty, then fear, as they realized they faced someone – or something – out of their experience. There would be disbelief warring with the anger or excitement, incredulity, then fear.

Fear was always in The Look. Clark had noticed fear, before, on his parents' faces. Sometimes it was when they thought he wasn't watching. More often, it was right after he'd done something totally inhuman. He guessed that his parents could handle, theoretically, knowing their son was an alien. But they'd be lulled into thinking of him as one of them, distracted by his human appearance. Then Clark would lift up the tractor, or warm up his dinner with heat vision instead of using the microwave, and a bit of The Look would be in their eyes again.

Sometimes that scared him. Your parents were supposed to love you unconditionally. When he did something…alien…and they _looked_ at him like that, he couldn't help an inner twinge. _Did they regret taking me in? Can they love someone who's not human? _

He knew that he loved them. He'd gotten over the fact that they hadn't told him of his ancestry until he was fifteen; once he thought about it, he could understand the need for discretion. Clark wanted his parents to be proud of him; he didn't want to see disappointment on their faces when he did something petty or wrong. As he grew up, and faced problems of his own, he gained some perspective on his parents' viewpoints, why they had done the things they'd done.

He now realized how hard it must have been for his father to confess so many times, "I don't know." As Jonathan Kent had said once, "_I'm your father. I'm supposed to have all the answers."_

But so many times, Clark had come to him, telling him of some strange new thing. Clark could see through solid objects. Clark could speed faster than the human eye could see. Clark could hear sounds a mile off. Clark could burn things with his eyes. And his father would just give a tiny smile, and shrug, and confess his ignorance. Then Jonathan would clap his son on the shoulder, and say something, and they'd work together to help Clark learn to control his powers. But sometimes -- no, _always_, at those times, there was a little bit of The Look deep down in Jonathan's gaze.

The Look said, _You are not human. _The Look said, _You are alien. _The Look said, _You are different. I should be afraid of you. _Even Clark's parents, who had rescued him from his crashed spaceship, who had raised him from toddlerhood, who comforted him in his troubles, who knew his moods and his powers, had The Look at times.

His parents had protected him as long as they could. _When ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise. _Now Clark realized the truth of that statement. Before, he'd just been a kid with abilities. Strange abilities, very unusual abilities, to be sure, but he always thought he was at least…human.

Then, one day, he grew tired of being different. He was tired of hiding his abilities, abilities that regular people didn't possess. Even when he'd used them in a good cause, he wondered, "Why?" _Why can I do this when other people can't? Why am I so abnormal? _His father tried to comfort him. In exasperation, lashing out at his father, Clark had stuck his arm in the wood chipper. "Normal -- I'd give anything to be normal!" he'd said, pulling out his untouched arm from the now-ruined chipper.

Later that evening, his father came to him.

"Clark, it's time", Jonathan said.

"Time for what?" Clark asked.

"The truth", Jonathan said heavily.

After his father finished telling Clark the truth about his origin – showing him a spaceship – _a spaceship!_ – in the storm cellar – Clark knew he could never even come close to normal again.

He was an alien. He'd come to earth in a UFO. It all sounded like some bad movie script. But it was true. He didn't belong. And other people ---_ humans_ – seemed to instinctively understand this when he came out of the shadows, when he exposed his abilities. And they would fear him. And they would give him The Look.

Finding out he was an alien set off some major moping in Clark. _Maybe not moping….maybe it's just…careful rumination_, he told himself. And just when he thought he had one thing all thought out, another thing would pop up. _Am I going to get more strange powers? Will I still look human when I grow up? What if I look totally alien and they take me away? _

As Clark grew older, he got more things to worry about. Things he'd never thought of at age fourteen assumed greater importance as he began maturing, feeling the stirrings of desire. _Can I… go with…a human woman? _If not, he was in big trouble, because there weren't too many Kryptonian females out there, the planet having exploded and all.

The whole episode where a woman had come, claiming that Clark was her child whom she'd given up for adoption, had served as the impetus for a lot of moping, er, rumination. She'd finally gotten the court to order a DNA test to prove a relationship. Clark had had to get Pete to help him fake the test. Clark wondered, _Do I actually have DNA? What do Kryptonians have for the stuff of heredity? _Then that would inevitably lead to hours of speculation (and dread and fear), _Can I ever father children? _And thinking about _that _of course led to _Can I make love to a human woman? I'm so strong. What if I hurt her? _

But these thoughts were in the future at the time he told Pete. He'd been told many times by his parents to keep his secret, to tell no one, to hide his abilities. Then Pete found Clark's spaceship in a field, tossed there by a tornado. They'd taken it to Pete's barn, but it disappeared. Pete thought that Clark had stolen it. Clark hadn't, but he couldn't explain his presence at Pete's barn, because he _had _come there to steal it. It was just that someone else stole it first.

Caught up in lies, angered by Pete's accusations (the more so because they were true), and tired – just tired – of a year of lies, a year of holding in, a year of coming to realize just how different he was and how more different he was going to be – Clark decided to tell.

He'd sped down the driveway, to Pete's eyes vanishing from the rear-view mirror. Then he'd stood in front of Pete's car, exerting just a fraction of the strength he possessed to keep it from advancing. The spinning rear wheels threw up a cloud of dust.

"Pete, we need to talk", he'd said seriously. He remembered Pete's eyes flicking back and forth nervously, Pete agitated and trembling as he climbed out of the car.

Clark had trembled a little himself. Pete was his best friend. They'd grown up together, gone on sleepovers and campouts together. Clark knew all the Ross family, even the myriad of cousins who only visited once or twice a year. If he could tell anyone at all, it would be Pete. It was hard, breaking his training, going against his parents' wishes, actually divulging his secret. But Pete would understand.

Except he didn't.

Clark didn't know how to start the conversation; he'd never deliberately told anyone about himself before. Heck, he'd only known about himself (the alien part) for a year anyway. Then Clark thought back to a comment Pete made when they found the spaceship in the cornfield.

"Pete, you said I was acting like I had license and registration on this." Clark swallowed. "Actually, I sort of…do."

Incomprehension from Pete – a blank stare.

Clark continued. "That spaceship brought me to Earth when I was little."

Pete gave a short laugh. "Yeah, right." He grinned at Clark, silently urging him to join in the funny. The smile slid off his face when Clark's expression didn't change.

Anger tinged Pete's voice. "Come on, Clark. You expect me to believe _that_?"

Clark stared. "It's true. That's my spaceship", he said.

Pete just gave another small smile, and nodded his head. If a non-verbal gesture could be called sarcastic, Pete's head-nod was.

"Look, I'm not like other people", Clark said. He didn't know what to say. In all his thoughts about telling someone, he'd imagined a lot of things, but never flat-out disbelief.

"Yeah, yeah, we're all special, aren't we, Clark?" Pete said.

Clark sighed. What the hey. He'd given away his secret already, even if Pete wasn't believing him. He looked down the long farm driveway. Near the road, by the "Kent Farm" signpost, was a basketball. Clark had meant to put it away yesterday, but with all the excitement he'd overlooked it.

"See that basketball?" Clark pointed. Pete gazed, nodded.

A wind blew past Pete's face as Clark entered super-speed and ran to get the basketball. To Pete, it was as if Clark had….blurred…for a second. Then a basketball had magically appeared in Clark's empty hands.

"How'd you do that?" Pete said quickly.

"Look at this", Clark said, almost angrily. He felt under Pete's car for the proper lift points – _don't want to tear the doors off or anything_ – and lifted the blue convertible off the ground.

Pete's eyes widened. Clark could actually see the blood drain from his face. Pete made as if to say something; he actually gobbled, not able to get words out.

Clark gently put the convertible back down on the ground. "Come with me", he said, heading to the storm cellar. Pete stood, not moving. "Come on", Clark repeated, gesturing. Numbly, Pete followed. They descended the stairs.

Clark headed toward the edge of the cellar. He pointed to a cleared area, a crumpled tarpaulin lying nearby. "This is where we kept the ship", he said. Pete, still too much in shock to speak, stood next to him, looking at the empty space.

Clark headed back to the storm cellar entrance, standing in the light streaming down the open door. He didn't know what he was going to do. He did plan on staying there till Pete got the idea. Clark stood still, realizing that now was a time to stay quiet.

Pete stayed looking at the spaceship spot, then turned back to the entrance. He looked at Clark blocking his exit. It was then that Clark saw The Look. Clark's stomach clenched and his eyes widened at the way Pete was looking at him. Deciding to tell his secret had left Clark with a strangely peaceful feeling – _it's over. The secrets and lies are over. I don't have to make up stories and lame excuses anymore. I can tell the truth. _But now that serenity was gone, replaced by jagged stabbings of anxiety.

Pete began moving, circling slowly around Clark, The Look on his face. Finally, he spoke.

"So, you're some sort of….what?" He shot Clark a sideways glance. "You're not a human?"

"I don't know what I am!" Clark said earnestly. Suddenly, eagerly, he wanted to explain himself. "I don't know where that ship brought me from." He swallowed. "I just know that I grew up in Smallville, and everything I care about, and everyone that I care about is here." He realized a defensive tone had come into his voice.

Pete continued circling him; Clark made himself remain still, despite the urge to turn and face Pete. Clark could smell the acrid scent of fear; he noticed Pete's inhalations had become short and fast, Pete's nostrils dilating with every breath.

Pete said curtly, "If you cared about me so much, how come you didn't tell me sooner?"

"Pete, believe me", Clark said placatingly. "There wasn't a day that went by where I didn't want to tell you, but my parents thought it was too dangerous." Clark saw Pete's face grow thunderous. "Not just for me, but for anyone else who knew the truth!"

Pete stepped forward, almost getting in Clark's face. "You didn't think I could handle it?" he said angrily.

Disconcerted, Clark snapped back, "_Can_ you?"

Pete swallowed whatever it was he was going to say. He stepped back, and broke eye contact with Clark. He looked at Clark's feet, moved his gaze upward in a calculating, measuring way, continuing to circle around Clark.

Clark couldn't stand the silence. For the first time, he saw – he actually saw – the full Look, felt its isolating effect. He straightened up. "Pete, another reason why I didn't say anything is because I knew people would look at me the exact same way you're looking at me now."

"And how's that?" Pete asked angrily, looking back at Clark.

"Like a freak!" Clark almost shouted in reply.

Clark's heart fell when Pete didn't respond. Pete just made a little motion with his hand, like he wanted to say something, but couldn't. Then Pete just kept circling, and looking, and looking. Clark was desperate to explain.

"Pete, I've tried my whole life just to blend in." Clark wished he could put into words his everyday prayer to be normal, to understand his abilities. "I've tried to be more normal than anyone else."

He shook his head in annoyance as Pete remained silent. "Look, just say something." Nothing from Pete. "Call me an alien. Call me a monster", Clark said, pleading. "I don't care, just say something."

Pete moved his lips, made no sound. He swallowed and shook his head. An expression of finality came into his eyes. "It's like I don't even know you", he said softly.

Clark got a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. This wasn't how he hoped things would go. Not at all.

"Yes, you do know me", Clark said, trying to project reassurance. "I'm the same kid who used to camp in your back yard." He noticed that a pleading note had entered his voice. "We used to ride our bikes in the woods. We used to play basketball with your brothers. _Nothing_ has changed."

Pete sighed. In a low voice, he said, "Yeah, right." The tone of his voice indicated that _everything _had changed.

Distressed, Clark took a step towards Pete, reaching to him. "Pete…"

Pete stepped back, alarm on his face, waving his arms to keep Clark away. "Back off, man!"

Shocked, Clark stopped. He returned to his original position, and carefully put his hands back at his sides. Surprised and saddened, he stared at Pete. Pete stared back, saying nothing.

Clark had never thought about it from someone else's – from a_ human's_ point of view before. He'd never thought that he might be frightening, never thought he might scare his best friend. Feeling alone and empty, Clark blurted out what he was thinking, what should go without saying.

"Pete", Clark said, putting all the conviction he could into his voice, "I would never hurt you."

A flash - was it fear? - in Pete's eyes, Pete realizing that Clark did have the power to hurt him, could hurt him if Clark wanted. Pete gave a rueful grimace. "Too late." He turned his back on Clark and walked, unhesitatingly, out of the storm cellar.

Clark just stood there, still, not moving, watching Pete walk away. The thought of speeding and catching up to Pete, talking with him again never crossed Clark's mind. Instead, Clark stared up the stairs, into the sunlight, and just thought about The Look.

* * *

A constant muffled susurrus of conversation filled the eatery as Clark sat at his table in the Talon, holding his cup of hot coffee (plain, no cream, no sugar, no extra caffeine). Clark inhaled the unmistakable fragrance of fresh-brewed coffee, ignoring the talking, as he stared into space. Early morning sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating tiny dust particles floating in midair.

"Penny for your thoughts", Chloe said, sliding into the seat across from him.

Clark sat back, momentarily startled. He'd been lost in reminiscence. He grimaced.

"Oh, come on, Clark, what is it?" Chloe demanded, now not just making a conversational opener but actually becoming interested at the thought of something out of the ordinary. She set down the tiny muffin-bagel-croissant menu and leaned forward, elbows on the table.

Clark turned to scan the coffee shop crowd. No danger of their conversation being interrupted; the sleep-deprived, surly barista making cappuccinos at a glacial pace had her full attention (such as it was) focused on the impatient customers lined up three-deep at the counter, and it looked like the overburdened waitress dealing with the sit-down crowd wouldn't get to their table anytime soon.

"I was just thinking about The Look", Clark said, startled into honesty.

Chloe quirked an eyebrow. "The look?"

"Think of it in capital letters, Chlo." Clark made little quotation motions with his fingers. "The Look."

Chloe gave him a look of another kind. "More specific here, please?"

Clark sighed, leaned closer. "It's the look people give me when…" he looked around the Talon, brought his head even closer to hers, and lowered his voice. "…when I do something…_unusual._"

Comprehension flashed across Chloe's face. "Oh. The Look." Clark could hear the capital letters in her voice now. She didn't say anything for a moment. Then she reached across the table, took his hand in hers, and held it, remaining silent.

"I got The Look once", she said after a few minutes, leaning back in her chair and releasing Clark's hand.

Clark raised his eyebrows in disbelief.

"No, really!" Chloe protested. "Once."

"Story?" Clark demanded.

"It was when I told Lionel Luthor to go to hell", Chloe said. "For a minute, he gave me this weird look, like he couldn't believe anyone would actually do that. It was like I was someone he really didn't expect. Someone who was totally alien."

Clark winced.

"You know, thinking back on it, I'm actually kind of glad I got The Look from him", Chloe said. "I'm kind of proud that I actually had the guts to do what I did." She picked up a fork, drew aimless designs on the table. "Of course, I paid for it, what with my father losing his job, and us almost getting blown up by a firebomb…" she trailed off. "It's probably not like The Look you get, is it, Clark?"

"Probably not." Clark gave a tiny smile. "I was just thinking about the day I told Pete", he confessed. He didn't know what had come over him. Chloe made him so comfortable, they were such good friends, he felt he could tell her anything, even something like this that he'd never told anyone before.

"When I told him, I really didn't know how he'd react." Clark drew a deep breath, remembering that time. "I was hoping he'd see the friend, that everything would be the same." Clark sighed. "After the initial blank stare, he was really scared and freaked out and angry."

"Go on", Chloe said softly.

"I remember, he was looking at me, like I…wasn't real…or like…I was some sort of…bug, or specimen, or whatever." The quiet intensity of Clark's voice almost broke Chloe's heart. She took his hand again, feeling its warmth.

"It…took me a long time to get over that", Clark said, trying (and failing) to lighten his tone. He looked away. "In some ways, I don't think I ever did get over it." Silence for moment. He looked Chloe in the eye as he said, "I've been leery about telling anyone since then…"

"I'm sorry, Clark", Chloe said sympathetically. Carefully, she didn't bring up her own experience of seeing, for the first time, Clark using his powers and demonstrating his non-human abilities. She'd been frightened then. She was OK with it now. _I'm like the peasant in "Monty Python and the Holy Grail" who claimed that a witch turned him into a newt,_ she thought, smiling as she remembered the comedic scene. _Like he said, "I got over it_._"_

Then, questioningly, Chloe said, "You know…"

"What?"

Chloe released his hand and looked around the Talon again before completing her thought. "I wouldn't be surprised if every human gets The Look at least once in their life. When they reveal that side of themselves that the other person had absolutely no clue was there." Chloe looked back at Clark. "Sometimes it's something amazing, like the stuff you do." She smiled at him. "And sometimes it's something bad, where you can't believe the person would actually do what you saw them doing."

"Like Lex Luthor making me think he was my friend, when all the time he was just using that to investigate me", Clark said in a carefully even tone. "The first of the betrayals."

"It still hurts, doesn't it, Clark?" Chloe said softly.

He remained silent for a moment. "Yes. It does." Clark turned his head, looked directly at her. "I still wish, sometimes…." He didn't finish his sentence.

Chloe paused, glanced around the coffee shop. "Where's that waitress, anyway? I need my coffee." Then she sat straighter, put a cheerful tone in her voice. "But, Clark…"

"Yes?"

"Getting back to the main topic here…" she said, leaning closer towards Clark again. "You thought you were human till you were fourteen, didn't you?"

"Yep. It was a real shock when my parents told me", Clark said. "Where's this going, Chloe? We had that whole discussion before."

"But, Clark, have you ever thought of what it means?" Chloe asked. "I mean, you and The Look?"

"Where are you going with this?"

"The fact that you do care, that you do notice The Look, means that you really are human. I mean inside. I mean, not that you aren't…" Chloe lowered her voice to a tiny murmur. "…Kryptonian…but you think like a human, you feel like a human. Inside, where it counts."

Clark sat back, thinking about it. It was nothing he hadn't considered in the past, but he'd never put it in those terms before. Kryptonian by birth, human by upbringing. Nature versus nurture. Was he some sort of failed Kryptonian? Or was he some sort of super-human? Or, conversely, was he actually a good Kryptonian, and a failed human? What were the standards?

"What are the standards?" he murmured.

"What?" Chloe asked.

Clark explained.

"Does it matter, Clark?" Chloe asked tartly. "The only one you could ask about Krypton normality is Jor-El – and he's an artificial intelligence!" She almost hissed in the effort to make her point while keeping her voice low. "What would a robot know about normality?" She stabbed her finger at him. "If Kryptonian normality is being like those other people from your planet who came here---"

"Zod and his minions", Clark interjected, distracted from his moping and fascinated by Chloe's slippage into a full-fledged rant. A pre-coffee rant, too. He didn't think Chloe ranted without fuel. Interesting to find out he was wrong.

"—homicidal world-conquering dictators and casually murdering psychopaths who don't care in the least about us humans -- then I for one am _exceedingly _glad that you're not a normal Kryptonian." She reached across the table, snatched Clark's cup of coffee, and took a large gulp. She slammed the cup back down. "So there!"

As ever, Chloe had penetrated to the core. He felt a surge of affection. Only she could pull him out of his mope with humor, let him know he'd been self-pitying again, and set him on the right path.

"Us humans?" he asked teasingly.

"Think of yourself as human-plus", she said, giving him a smile.

He stared at her for a moment, returned a slow smile. "OK", he said.


End file.
